Her Gallery
by heeyjayp17
Summary: On the first morning of their marriage, Rapunzel takes Eugene back to the tower. For what? Well, he's about to find out. One shot. Eugene's POV. Post Tangled Ever After.


**Here's another Tangled one shot before I go to bed. Based on a post on Tumblr. Told in Eugene's POV. Post Tangled Ever After.** **Enjoy!**

* * *

I still don't get it.

She already had a home, a real family, and not to mention a ridiculously handsome husband. And on my first morning as a married man, I find myself being reluctantly taken by my wife back to square one.

The tower.

I remember the last time I was up here. The chains, the evil mother, the knife... and when all of that was over, I knew that Rapunzel and I could finally be together (and then there was a little time spent trying to absorb the fact that she was actually the lost princess). Later on, she looked down the tower's secret exit, the one that her "mother" had left open, the one that could have led her to a life of miserable solitary confinement.

I took a deep breath, and said, "Well, princess, I do remember promising to take you home."

"You did, didn't you?" She chuckled.

"You're going to live a whole new life and you're never going back."

She didn't respond.

"Right?"

"I guess..." She shrugged upon saying that, which got me confused. Why would she ever want to come back here? To reminisce eighteen years of imprisonment? I don't think so.

Well, we're here at the tower again, and nothing has been changed or touched. For one thing, the mirror still lay over there broken, the chains that shackled us are still here, Rapunzel's discarded hair still scattered the floor, and the chair that she tied me up to with her hair still sat over there in the corner collecting dust.

Aah, it all seemed like yesterday. But, Rapunzel, really, why are we here?

"Do you see what are on the walls, Eugene?" she asks, her voice echoing in the ambiance.

"Yes, Rapunzel, you're an amazing artist." I say quite speedily.

I watch her walk towards a chest pressed against one of the corners of the wall. She opens it, and from there she produces a small wooden box. "They picture the first eighteen years of my life. My experiences, my thoughts, my dreams..."

She stares at the painting of her and the lanterns. I remember her showing me that when she blackmailed me to take her to see them.

"No matter how lonely life here was—" There's a whirring noise coming from her companion on her shoulder. "Well, not entirely lonely," she glances at the frog, giving him a warm smile. "This place will always have a piece of me."

As much as I want to say something, I choose to keep my mouth shut. Well, who can blame her? She lived here for eighteen years believing that somebody actually loved and cared for her. I begin to understand the ambivalence.

"Now, where's that wall?" She starts to climb up the platform near an unpainted space (and probably the only empty room here in this tower, I mean, she turned this place into her giant art gallery), bringing the wooden box with her. I follow her, realizing that the box contained paints and brushes. She picks up a rather thick brush and dips it into a pale beige color.

"In this tower dwells the first chapter of my life, and I couldn't possibly start another without ending this one."

She begins painting. And as she does, I stand by her side, gazing at her collection of masterpieces. I stare with wonder, trying to make out the story the paintings were telling while asking my wife occasional questions.

I stand here for hours, looking back and forth at Rapunzel as she goes. As the artwork slowly nears completion, I soon realize what she's painting, but I decide to stay silent, watching her gently stroke her brush, smiling at the gesture.

After some time, she says, "It's finished, Eugene," getting up and wiping her brow.

I gaze at her finished piece for a while. "That's very beautiful, Rapunzel," I respond as I take her hand.

It's a picture of us at our wedding day, the perfect last piece to her gallery, the ending to the chapter she was talking about, and the perfect beginning to a new one.

Our new dream has begun, and there is, without a doubt, only one way to spend it.

Together.


End file.
